Fetch In the Muck
Through the thick of the fog
I begged to the bog
stumped by a stymied log.
It was hollow of pride,
like a zookeeper’s dog,
reduced to bark-less hide.
From the splat of my thud
It wore polka-spot mud
and rolled just because
It knew what It was
to snap unjustified.
So what could I do
but prove what It knew
with another attack
on the cripple I threw?
If cracking my back
playing fetch in the muck
was the point of It all - I’m stuck.
12/11/2018
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2018
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